


Piss In My Wounds Daddy Vikare

by Golden506



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Flushed Romance | Matesprits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 16:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21359464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden506/pseuds/Golden506
Summary: Vikare porn for a friend. Don't mind the title, it's an inside joke.
Relationships: MSPA Reader & Vikare Ratite
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Piss In My Wounds Daddy Vikare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [conksuckboot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/conksuckboot/gifts).

There was always something about Vikare that drew you in. His manner of speech, his adventurous nature, his unending enthusiasm for the skies and hope for the future. You left to find other friends after him, of course. You addiction needed tending. But one way or another, you kept coming back to his elevated, messy hive, where the grinning bronzeblood would always greet you as his buddy, his chum, his pal, and his friend.

One of those visits, a few weeks back, he seemed different. Secretive, yet cheeky and excited, like a child fighting back a laugh in the middle of a class. You had inquired immediately, but were met with nothing more than the same endearing grin and sparkling goggles.

(You’re still not sure how that works.)

Not for the first time, you lament how damn difficult it is to get yourself up to his hive, even with the mechanical assistance of the pulley system. You tug hard as you can against the rope, and succeed in raising yourself a solid three more inches before falling back with a gasp. You consider rigging a system to utilize your rather excellent legs before you notice that you still seem to be moving.

“Having a little trouble there, old chap?” asks Vikare with a laugh. Up on the doorstep of the hive, he pulls the rope smoothly hand through hand. You stagger to your feet just in time for the platform to level with the hive and for Vikare to sweep you up in a crushing hug. You struggle for a moment before accepting your fate as a human stress ball.

After a full ten second highly pressurized Ratite experience, he lets you go. “I missed you! I’ve kept myself busy over last perigee or so, as you might’ve surmised” He winks. You attempt to separate your lungs from your ribcage. “And, well, I think I might be just about ready to show you what this old noggin’s been thinking up!” After a few instances of what could arguably be called breathing, you respond.

“Yeah, missed you too. And I’m always up for seeing more of your designs!” His grin does the impossible and widens further. “Designs? Who said this was a design?” Before you can formulate a response, he’s ushering you over to his couch. “Sit, sit! I’ve made sure to have some food in the house this time around, and you’ll need the energy for what I have planned!”

You don’t like the sound of that at all, but you decide to do what you do best and roll with it. You sit down on the faded cushion of the sofa and watch him fumble about in his kitchen, or rather his meal block(you really should get used to the alien lingo) for a solid fifteen minutes before he delivers, beaming, something vaguely resembling charcoal and/or snails. 

“Never was much of a cook but I think I’ve got this right figured out!” he enthuses, and you watch in horror as one of the things he made crumbles when he bites it, blackened crumbs settling on his shirt. A grin makes its way through your fear of putting some of the quote unquote food anywhere near your mouth as his eyes widen at the taste, before he powers on determinedly through eating. His almost stubborn brand of optimism is a big part of why you like him so much, among other things.

(You’re not thinking about that. Nope.)

In a desperate attempt for a conversation piece to delay the inevitable, you look around the room. Most of the posters on the walls are about spaceflight, never a popular topic with him, and you’re not sure talking about whatever the hell “The Scourge Shitters” is makes for a better alternative to the food. You guess you could just say that you don’t want to eat it, but you’ve noticed a suspicious trend of asking the slightest thing to preserve your own wellbeing leading to friends abandoning you. There’s probably a reason for that.

“So, uh, Vikky, what’s this project you’re working on?” you ask quickly, pretending that you can’t tell it’s blatantly a plane or plane-related thing. He takes a moment to finish choking down his second dubiously edible object before responding. “Oh ho ho, my lips are sealed in that regard! You’ll see soon enough, I promise you that.” He returns to his meal and you subtly toss two of the burnt morsels over the back of the couch. Sort of subtly.

“So, what do you think? Does it sweep you off your feet, send you reeling through the wonderfully atmospheric sky, set your heart aflutter? I’ll say it is a break from our typical escapades, that’s without a doubt!”

Some or all of those things seem to be happening, and not because of the food. You’re probably just having a stroke. Yes, that must be it. It’s not because he’s grinning at you, his teeth are blackened by the food but does he care? No, he’s going on with his own enthusiasm and charm and looks and wow where are you going with this thought?

In any case, you would sooner shove a sword through your own hypothetically present dick than let him down, so you nod energetically. “It’s really great, I was surprised by your, uh, magnificent aptitude in the culinary arts!” you respond. He laughs. “Why, I can hardly express my gratitude, dear pal of mine!”

Setting down his plate, he leans back and stretches. You pointedly do not look at him, and instead take the opportunity to masterfully dispose of another morsel. His weird troll spine cracks like a gunshot(you were certain he’d broken it the first time he did it, but apparently they just do that) and he settles back down with a sigh.

“Soon as you’ve finished up your grubcrackers we can head on out!” You take a closer look at the food. You’re pretty sure you’ve had grubcrackers before and they were not this charred, but whatever. “We can go, I’m so excited for your plane. I mean project.” you offer. “To adventure?” you finish weakly. Nonetheless, Vikare takes it in stride. “To adventure!” he agrees. hopping off the couch and gesturing to the platform.

Soon enough, you find yourself trudging through fields with Vikare chattering on about whatever topic comes to him. You occasionally take a break from actually comprehending his words and just listen to the melodic rise and fall of his voice, the intonation and overemphasis of his dramatic speech. It’s far more comforting than it has any right to be.

You make your way through a copse of trees and you can see you’re near a clearing on the other side when Vikare jumps in front of you, arms spread and wide smile set in place. “Are you ready, good sir? Ready to see! Ready to discover, to adventure, feel the wind through your fingers! Are you ready to see unveiled the majesty of a purple, no, violet generation?”

You just sort of nod.

With a dramatic flourish, he turns, leading you out into the clearing. To the surprise of literally nobody, a plane lays at the center of the clearing. You avert your eyes before you can observe it properly - you’ve seen the materials used in Vikare’s designs. You’re warming up to the whole murderplanet style, but you would rather just not. He lays a hand on your shoulder. “Take a gander. I think you’ll like it!” You force yourself to look up,

It’s larger than the designs you’ve seen before, with two adjacent seats instead of the one you’re used to. Two pairs of wings, one atop the other, fan out of the hull, which tapers as it goes along. A thick tail fin is positioned near the back of the plane, and five slightly curved blades make up a large propellor on the nose.

There’s not a bone nor stretch of skin in sight.

“Wow.” you breath out. “I knew you’d love it. It is absolutely, positively, beautifully magnificent, how could you not?” says Vikare. “I know you weren’t a fan of the old lowblood hull, so I decided to change things up a mite! Why, there’d be no point in flying if you couldn’t be right there with me.” 

You stare at him. He did not just say that. Vikare Ratite did not just utter the words “there’d be no point in flying,” regardless of the context. He pauses for a moment. “Well, it would still be a truly exhilarating experience I am sure, but I couldn’t very well take off in good conscious without you! I would never leave behind a comrade in aviation like that.”

“Thank you. Means a lot coming from you.” you tell him. “Is it ready to go?”

“Fit as a fiddle and ready as a whistle!” exclaims Vikare. “Now, you might wonder, ‘where on Alternia is the helmsman?’ Well, the whole contraption runs off the wonderful thing called combustion!” You weren’t wondering that at all, but you let him continue. “It’s a right doozy of an invention! Come on, allow me to demonstrate.”

He walks over to the plane, you trailing behind like a lost puppy, and he proceeds to show you the mysteries of an engine. You’re actually kind of impressed that he managed to build it on his own, and also that it’s such a big deal for a goddamn spacefaring species. Soon enough you’re sitting beside him in the cockpit, spare goggles over your eyes and hands gripping your seat.

“This, my friend, is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The moment where troll and weird alien alike ascend! Where we fly, we soar, we cavort through the skies as gravity cradles us in its arms! We are about to make history, you and I, are you ready? Ah, why do I ask? I know you are! You’ve been ready to fly for far too long, just like me!” shouts Vikare over the building roar of the engine.

You just sort of nod again. 

“Then let us be off!” he cries, pushing the throttle forward. The propellor spins, cutting through the air with a whir, and the plain inches forward. His face screams excitement, the tension and expectation plain to see on his obscured, but still adorably expressive visage.

(What?)

He laughs as the plane angles upward and tentatively clears the ground, a joyous sound that has you laughing along with him. You’re moving faster now, wind rushing across the wings and tugging at your clothes. You look over at Vikare, and his infectious smile is plastered even wider across his face, you can see he’s happier now than he’s ever been before.

You end up flying for about a minute before the engine sputters and you dip down into a borderline crash landing.

He hops out of the cockpit, and you follow behind. He’s laughing and talking, but you don’t know what he’s saying. You’re too focused on the troll himself, his goggles pushed up onto his head exposing his stunning bronze eyes. His hands are on your shoulders burning like fire, your heart is racing and you barely have the presence of mind to deny how gorgeous he is. He’s happy, your happy, everything is good.

Instinctively you step closer, narrowing the gap between you into something far more intimate than even before. His laughter quiets, replaced by a burning gaze and heavy, slightly rasping breathing. One of his hands slips from your shoulder and moves to your back, and since when were your arms wrapped around him like that?

He’s so warm and soft against you, his body pressed against yours comforting and arousing alike. One hand is caressing, almost clutching his back, the other rested just above his hips. You’re not entirely sure what the fuck you’re playing at, but without a doubt you know that there are far too many inches between your lips. You’re leaning forward, as is he, and just like that you make contact.

A fraction of a second after the first brush of lips, you pull him back against you, desperate for more. You lean against him, almost over him, letting him half support you as you kiss him. He’s plush and warm and virile and kissing back with passion and it’s better than you ever imagined it. He makes a small noise deep in his throat and it just makes your blood run hotter, faster. You throw yourself at him, renewed, and feel something against the back of your hand when he stumbles back. He’s backed up against the side of the plane.

You pull away for a second and look at him. He’s staring back at you, deep brown eyes smoldering, yet questioning. You notice you’re shaking slightly as your extract your arms from behind him and rest your hands on his chest, ever so slightly feeling the thrum of his accelerated heartbeat through his jacket. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but no words come to him. You settle for kissing him again, and you feel him slowly slide to the ground until you’re practically sitting in his lap. 

You unbutton his coat with fumbling, heavy fingers and he shrugs out of the garment. He jerks slightly towards you as you lean in again, hips grinding against you. Your lips meet again, tongues swirling around each other and you nearly shudder at the pure, aching need within you. Your hand cups his cheek and he sighs slightly against you, relaxed and content. You kiss him for another few seconds, before pushing away. He looks disappointed for a moment until he sees you stripping off your now iconic hoodie. You let it drop to the floor before returning your attention to him.

You trail your fingers down his sides before pulling his shirt up and off of him. His smooth, muscled chest covered in goosebumps from the cold of the evening is beyond enticing. You lay a wavering line of kisses up from his chest to his neck, pausing to assail his neck with your tongue. He moans slightly, tilting his head and running a hand through your hair. 

Repositioning yourself further upon him, you continue to kiss him as you begin grinding against him. He stiffens, and you almost pause before he starts thrusting up against you. It’s far hotter than it has any right to be. You let out a groan against his lips and move more and more intensely against him.

His rutting grows more desperate, and coming to a decision you slide back off him until you’re positioned above his hips. You unbutton his pants and slide them off, revealing his writhing brown bulge. “What are we even-” He’s cut off with a gasp as you take it into your mouth. You inch slowly down its length before rising up to the tip to swirl your tongue around it. He groans, hips shuddering, and you back off a bit, languidly licking it instead of taking it fully into your mouth. Your flick your tongue back and forth across the tip, while a finger finds his nook and traces the entrance teasingly. 

You take him fully into your mouth at the same time as your finger enters him, and he flat out bucks against you. Your lower yourself onto his bulge as far as you can go, feeling it tickle the back of your throat for a moment before you surface again, coughing slightly. You’re quite frankly extremely offended by the continued presence of your pants, and you decide to remove them immediately. You place his hand on you, and after a moment he slips his fingers in. They crook in just the right way, and you ride him for a minute to prepare yourself and allow him to cool down. 

You push his hand away and lower yourself onto his undulating bulge. It’s an odd feeling, the length of it filling you as it moves of its own accord, but not an unfamiliar one. You sit still for a moment before rising slowly and falling back upon Vikare. You keep up a slow, languid pace, letting it curve against you in the most satisfying way. 

Eventually your pace increases, electric waves of pleasure coursing through you as you ride him. He’s clearly holding on as hard as he can, legs tensed and lip bitten, but the dam has to break. You both cry out simultaneously, and you relish the feeling of his bronze cum inside you as you ride the pleasure of your orgasm. You slow, before tentatively lifting yourself off him. Leaning forward, you kiss him again before settling against his chest. He starts to speak, but you put a finger to his lips and tuck your head under his. After a moment, he sighs and relaxes against you.


End file.
